The Nights He Can Sleep
by Lancinate
Summary: Tony's life is falling apart, and he knows it, and he refuses to acknowledge it, because when Pepper's there, everything's okay. And he'll do anything if it lets him keep Pepper. Even if 'anything' means entering into an unsavory partnership with Loki. This is way more worth reading than it sounds.


**Warnings**: Major character death, mild dub-con (of the, if you sleep with me, I'll do this for you variety)

The nights when Tony leaves his lab at all, it's because Pepper's there, waiting for him, in the penthouse. She lets herself in, fixes herself a drink and sits on the couch and waits for him, bare feet curled underneath her thighs. She reads while she waits, facing the door so that she'll see him when he walks in, so that he'll see her, and every time, without fail, she smiles.

She stands as he walks in, long legs barely covered by short jean shorts, tiny hints of her tanned stomach peeking out from the loose hem of her white blouse. She wears a lot of different outfits, Tony makes sure of that, but this one, the way it makes her look sensual and sexy and carefree and comfortable, this one is his favorite.

"I ordered us dinner," she says, as he puts an arm around her, gently squeezing her hip against his, closing his eyes and smelling her hair. He loves the way she smells. He loves her.

"It's ten," Tony says, a teasing complaint, because he likes to pretend that the simple routine of eating together isn't something he looks forward to all week. Sometimes longer, when she's away on business.

"Jarvis tells me you've had a granola bar and three cups of irish coffee today," she says, fixing him with a look that's supposed to be disapproving.

"Jarvis is lying." He doesn't even bother with trying to sound convincing; he just smiles and kisses her on the earlobe.

"Mhmm. That sounds highly plausible."

She raises a hand to caress his cheek, pouting at him until he puts his lips over hers. He pulls her tighter with one hand, never wanting to let go, and he strokes her hair with the other, kissing her long and deep and slow. It's not sexual, it's a different kind of need, a longing of familiarity and intimacy much deeper than that.

"I'm not wearing any underwear," she whispers, one hand traveling down his back to slip under his waistband. "And, apparently, neither are you."

He laughs, holding her face at a slight distance from his so that he can look at her fully. "I don't know why you're surprised."

"You could do me right now," she says, taking his hand from her jaw and placing it on her chest. "We have time."

"Okay," he says. "Your intel was correct. I have not eaten enough food today to even be standing up right now. After dinner."

She pouts, but follows him as he sits on the couch, curling up in the curve of his body, snuggling up into him. He turns the fireplace on, and the television, so that he can hold her and feel her and not have to talk.

"Tony," she says, tilting her head up at him, concern in her eyes. "You're not taking care of yourself."

"That's a very subjective assessment," he says, raising an eyebrow at her. "Are you trying to tell me that I smell?"

"No," she says, her voice soft and sweet, but firm. "Well, a little bit. But I don't mind. That's not the point, Tony. You haven't shaved in days, at least, and you really aren't eating enough. You have to eat, Tony."

"That's why you ordered dinner," he says, pressing his lips to her hair. "That's why I have you."

"You should go back to work," she says. "Give yourself something to do."

"I'm fine, Pep."

She makes a little disapproving grunt but doesn't say anything

He's almost asleep by the time the food arrives, so comfortably curled around her, and he doesn't want to get up. But she can't go to the door, so he has to.

He pays and tips and carries the food back to the dining room and by the time he does she's set the table and lit candles, like she really wants it to be a nice night. He does too.

"Wash your hands," she says, not even looking up, busy readjusting the tablecloth.

The face he sees in the mirror scares him, a little. A few days is a definite understatement when it comes to his shaving schedule. His eyes are gaunt and caved in. There's a small line of motor oil on his temple, which is particularly troubling because he can't even remember the last time he's come in contact with any.

He doesn't want to make her sit with the food, but he feels much worse about making her sit with him when he looks like this. So he hops in the shower, and brings out his electric razor, and actually irons a shirt before putting it on.

"Well, hello handsome," she says, her face broadening into a smile as he walks in, and she's teasing him, a little, but there's a lot of serious intent in her voice as well. "This is how you should look when I see you. All of the time, actually."

They make quick work of dinner, the first structured meal Tony's had in a week. He loves her, he loves her so much, and sitting across from her, looking at her in the candlelight room, he wishes she'd stay longer. He wishes she'd never leave.

They do the dishes themselves, because the maid won't be in before breakfast and Pepper likes to cook. They work together and then they fight with the suds, Tony's well-pressed shirt becoming a wrinkled mess, and Pepper laughs and laughs and rests her head against his chest.

It's all perfect. It's great. But Tony finds himself vetoing Pepper's suggestions for 'dessert.' He's tired, so tired, and all he wants to do is hold her close and fall asleep.

When he wakes up he's alone, and he glances at the clock, sees that it's already 10, and panics. She rarely stays past 9. She has things to do. He doesn't. She could have woken him for breakfast. She should have woken him up.

But when he walks into the kitchen she's there, cooking eggs and wearing one of his shirts, a navy blue button down that just barely covers her butt. He walks up behind her, sliding his arms around her, resting his hands on her stomach and his chin on her shoulder. "Thank you for staying," he says.

"Of course," she says, putting one of her hands over his as the other continues to flip eggs. "I had to make sure you got enough sleep. You still owe me a good time, Stark."

Her tone is light, but there's an undercurrent there that Tony doesn't like. He doesn't want to. He never wants to, not anymore. Not the way his life is now.

She can feel him tense up. "Why don't you ever want me anymore?"

"I want you. Of course I want you. It's just not a good time for me," he says. "Let's save up our energy and have a really good time next week."

"Tony, if you don't fuck me soon they're going to decide I'm a virgin again."

"And that'd be so bad? Virginal Pepper Potts? You could wear white to our wedding."

She kindly doesn't say anything to that, dismissing him to the table with a bagel and a cup of coffee, dishing the eggs onto plates. He notices that she's given him nearly twice as much, and she watches him as he eats it.

"I'm not anorexic, Pep," he says, grinning at her through a mouthful. "I just forget sometimes."

"I feel like the only time you ever eat is when you're with me."

Tony shrugs. "Then maybe you should come around more often."

She bites her lip. "You know I can't."

He nods, and he watches her eat her eggs with the same intensity that she watched him, eyes tracking the movement of the fork from the plate to her lips and back until she catches on and bursts out laughing. "Okay," she says. "I get it. I won't watch you eat."

He takes a bite of the bagel as she clears the table, and when she returns she's biting her lower lip again. "Tony, we need to talk. About our arrangement."

His stomach feels leaden. "You promised you wouldn't bring that up. Not like this."

She nods. "I'm sorry. Will you see me later?"

"Schedule an appointment," he says, placing his bagel on top of the coffee cup so he can finish it elsewhere. "Jarvis can help you out."

Pepper follows him to the door, placing light fingers on his forearm. "Tony..."

"We had an agreement," Tony says, not looking at her, this acidic pit forming in his stomach. "I'll see you next week."

He heads down to the lab. He doesn't do much anymore, not with the real world or with people, but he still has this. He's making her a suit. To protect her.

He gets lost in the schematics, bagel and cup of coffee untouched on the desk beside him. He doesn't get lost in them so much as he gets lost in front of them, daydreaming in a nightmarish way. He's barely made any progress, in the last six months. He's been working on this same project, all that time. Getting distracted, getting frustrated, making a piece and then destroying it because it isn't good enough.

He makes excuses. His life is falling apart. It's not his fault. She doesn't even need the armor anyway.

"Sir, Loki is here for his three o'clock appointment."

He jerks back into the moment, glances at the clock and realizes that all of that time has, in fact, passed. "Uh, give me two minutes and send him in," he says, rubbing his face in a habitual attempt to look like he's taking care of himself, before realizing that he's slept and shaved and probably looks just fine.

He turns off the computer, initiates lockdown sequences on his equipment. If he were still the person he was six months ago, his meetings would take place in an office, like most scheduled meetings. Now he just sees people in his lab, pretends like that's completely normal.

"I am, of course, sympathetic to your loss," Loki says as he walks in, not even waiting for Tony to speak, helping himself to a seat that Tony hasn't offered. "I would not be here if I were not."

Tony glances at him and nods, keeping his body just turned enough that he isn't completely vulnerable to attack, but still doesn't have to actively look at Loki.

"However, I have come here on less than amicable terms."

Tony nods again. He'd have to be stupid not to know that.

"What I do for you is a large time commitment, with many specific demands that I would argue I have met. I have been lenient with the terms of our agreement until now, but I am afraid I cannot continue to offer this service unless you promise to follow through with all of the agreed upon compensation."

Tony tosses a wrench in the air and catches it. He knows the vague wording is for his benefit, but that doesn't mean he likes it. "You mean sex."

Loki looks at him for a moment. "Yes."

"I can't be in the mood all the time," Tony says, looking away again, drumming his fingers on the desk because it's a flimsy excuse and he knows it.

"And yet I find it strongly improbable that you are never in the mood."

He wants to tell Loki to fuck off, to get his kicks from someone else. He doesn't because he knows that Loki could destroy everything that he has left. That he could take away the last thing keeping Tony alive. And if the price for that not happening is being a little bit of a prostitute, well, there are people who would argue that he's always been a whore.

"Okay," he says. "Fine."

Loki smiles, a thin genuine smile that seems somehow more nefarious than his maniacal grin ever has. "Thank you."

Tony doesn't say anything, he just turns back to his computer and pretends that the screen isn't black, pretends it's a completely valid reason to let Loki show himself out.

He hears the chair creak, and then without so much as the sound of one footstep Loki is beside him, thin fingers warm on his cheek.

Tony ignores them, wishing he could tell Loki never to touch him like this, but he can't. Not after everything that's happened. He has to keep Loki happy. Loki could take everything away from him and so Tony lets him take whatever he wants. In this context, they don't have any governing agreement, nothing to hold Loki in check. There's not much he can do to stop him.

But Loki's fingers disappear almost as quickly as they appeared, one of them catching lightly on the tip of Tony's ear before they're gone entirely, and he waits for three beats, turns around, and Loki's gone.

He knows Loki wasn't trying to set him off. That it was just meant to show affection. But he doesn't want Loki's affection.

He spends the next half hour sitting in front of the blank screen, bending and unbending paper clips until they break. He doesn't want to think about Loki. He doesn't want to think about how compromising his situation really is. He doesn't want to think about the state of his life, or whatever's left of it, anyway. So he focuses on that little snap of the weak steel wire.

At five, he gets an e-mail from Pepper.

"I'm sorry about this morning. I'd like to come over again tonight, around 9..." It goes on, but he doesn't read it.

He looks at the screen, debating. He doesn't want to see her so soon after talking to Loki. But it's an extra night with her, and he can't undervalue that.

He never responds to the e-mail. But he goes to the penthouse at nine anyway, finds her on the couch, a little frown on her face as she reads an article in The Economist.

She looks up at him and smiles, casting the magazine aside without a second thought. "Did you have a good day?"

"Loki stopped by." He doesn't know why he's telling her. Of course, she knows. But it's better, pretending that she doesn't.

"Did you eat?"

"No." There's no sense in lying.

"Tony," she says, and there's almost hurt in her eyes. "You can't let it get to you like this. I wish you would care about yourself as much as I care about you."

He doesn't look at her. "Well, I can't."

She sighs. "There's pizza and beer in the kitchen."

"You know me so well," he says, and he smiles, but it feels wrong.

Of course, there's not just pizza and beer in the kitchen. There's also salad, and a fruit bowl. "Pizza's a vegetable now," he says, raising an eyebrow at her, doing his best to stay playful, because he knows she wants that. And then scarfing down two pieces in the least sexy way possible, because he's extremely hungry.

Pepper rolls her eyes. "Salad tastes good," she says. "It's for me. You don't have to eat any."

"So what's your excuse for the fruit?"

"Well," she says, picking up a grape and running it along her lips, biting into it so that a little bit of the juice trickles down from her mouth. "These are for you."

"I don't eat grapes," he says, feigning ignorance pretending that her lips don't do anything for him, that the flick of her tongue as she licks up the juice isn't working.

"What about this," she asks, sucking lightly on a strawberry. "Does this turn you on?"

"Maybe if you tried it with a banana?"

They fall into bed, and he pulls Pepper down on top of him, getting lost in her skin and her smell, letting her ride him as he lies tired and defeated and happy all at the same time, sinking into the mattress. And it's not long, and if it weren't for Pepper doing all the work it wouldn't be very graceful, but it's surprisingly nice anyway.

And she curls up against him, her body limp and satisfied. "I love you," she says.

He looks at her, and for a moment there he only sees Loki.

He'd be lying, if he said that he wasn't always aware. If he claimed that it wasn't impossible to forget entirely. It's just worse, today, because he just saw him. The image and the touch fresh in his mind.

The pain will fade again, he knows. It'll get better, and maybe in a few weeks, maybe in a few months he'll be able to look at Pepper and tell her that he loves her without worrying about the fact that Loki's the one hearing it.

He's never going to be good enough to delude himself into thinking that she's not actually gone. But that's okay. This is better than not having her at all.

He brushes the hair out of her eyes so that he can look deep into them, and try to forget.

"I don't know what I would do without you," he says.

And Pepper smiles.


End file.
